


Radio Hour

by Cpt_Kiwi



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920's, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cpt_Kiwi/pseuds/Cpt_Kiwi
Summary: A confession of love over a radio program.
Relationships: Original Character Shit, one legged twink x blind future seeing gay
Kudos: 6





	Radio Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PinetreeVillain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinetreeVillain/gifts).



> I really hope no one thinks this is a Hazbin Hotel fanfiction,,,  
> Anyway, I love writing stories about love between OCs- even when no one knows SHIT about them other than my friends and me.  
> Seraph belongs to my pal Pinetreevillain and Dump belongs to the lmol Sophie uwu (and by process of elimination i guess Reylen is mine)

The after-work listening of Saturday night radio has become somewhat of a tradition in Reylen King’s shitty downtown apartment.

It’s the sort of thing that forms out of some burst of circumstance and lucky timing, although none of them can ever seem to remember who started it. All Reylen knows is that every Saturday night at 5:01 PM, Seraph Moss walks with him home from work, and drinks tea on the living room couch with Reylen’s head in his lap while Dump makes dinner.

He eats with the two of them at 5:30, around a too-small kitchen table with only two chairs. Every time, without fail, Seraph offers to sit on the floor, like it’s somehow his fault that Reylen hasn’t socked up enough cash to buy a third chair. They argue about who’ll sit where until 5:35. Seraph always caves, usually around the fourth “Jesus, Seraph, sit and fucking  _ eat _ ,” and Dump sits on the top of the table, plate in their lap, swinging their legs over the edge.

They make small talk. Dump goes on about their day until 5:55, when, as if sprung by some sort of internal clock, they bolt toward the living room in two giant steps. They take their familiar seat on the rug in front of the radio. It’s smart of them, Reylen thinks, to give the radio an extra five minutes. The piece of shit takes at least four to tune to the right station. 

From 6 to 6:30, it’s all about  _ Mystery House _ . It’s Dump’s favorite program, something about a murder that Reylen’s never really followed. He’s read enough murder-mysteries to know that it’s  _ always _ the butler, and the guy he sticks it to usually deserves it.

Dump likes to listen in baited silence, their eyes wide and fixed to the speakers as Lynn Edwards and Mrs. What’s-Her-Fuck take on murder mansion. They make Reylen turn out the lights, for the atmosphere, and tell him, for the tenth time, that they’ve never missed an episode. Seraph already knows how the story ends (from what he’s told Reylen, What’s-Her-Fuck is quite the killer), but he always listens as if it’s for the first time, that smile on his face. He’s unbearably patient, and much more willing to listen to all that  _ Mystery House _ dingus.

For Reylen, it’s always more in the event. He doesn’t have much of an attention span for fictional dramas. The real-life stuff has a much better spin to it. But he likes their dinners, he likes Dump’s nearly contagious enthusiasm, and he  _ especially  _ likes sitting up beside Seraph on the couch.  _ Mystery House _ is the perfect excuse to tuck his face into Seraph’s neck and hold his hand for a little while before Seraph calls a cab home and kisses him goodnight.

Like every Saturday night,  _ that _ Saturday night is no different. It’s just another one of their weekly radio hours, and Lynn Edwards is about to marry the Duke.

At least, Reylen thinks she is. At this point, he’s just about tuned it out. He lays across the couch, one leg hooked over its cushiony arm. His head rests in Seraph’s lap, his hair splayed out like a messy red blanket, and one arm stretches leisurely above his head as he traces the line of Seraph’s collarbone beneath his work shirt.

Rain drums lightly against the windowsill behind the couch, but the room is warm.  _ Mystery House _ ’s single narrator croons over the radio, something about marriage and the Duke. Reylen hears Dump sigh dreamily. They’ve got the hots for whoever it is, and it’s really sort of sweet. He guesses that if Dump should like anyone, it fits for it to be some nameless, mysterious, sophisticated voice on the radio.

Seraph’s fingers curl an idle path through Reylen’s hair. He sits like he always does, somewhat faced in the direction of Dump and their hinky beau. Reylen watches his face as he lays back. He looks content, his placidly calm smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. 

Reylen can’t help but wonder if he ever drifts off. It must be sort of depressing, to always know how things end. As much as Reylen likes knowing things, the good lord Christ himself knows he wouldn’t have the patience to pretend to be interested all the time.

“The Duke is that jailed fellow’s brother,” Seraph whispers down to him, as if on cue. “It’s a revenge story.”

A much too-loud snort of laughter blows from Reylen’s nose. His fingers pause along Seraph’s clothed collarbone. He trails the tips of his fingers up along Seraph’s shoulder, walking two along the curve of the bone. “I  _ knew  _ it!”

Across the room, Dump squeaks out a sharp, severe  **_SHHH._ **

Seraph hums an idle apology, but his smile seems to widen. He reaches a free hand up to his face, curling his index finger against the bridge of his nose to push his glasses back into place.

And that’s what does it.

That’s all it takes. A simple shift of the hand, a relaxed adjustment. He’s fixing his glasses as anyone would, with familiarity and simplicity that they all  _ should _ be used to.

_ But Jesus Christ does it whip Reylen good. _

Seraph’s hand falls back to meet Reylen’s on his shoulder. Reylen stares. Butterflies are caught up in a shootout in his stomach, his face is already getting hot. It’s just  _ glasses _ , that’s all it is. He’s adjusted his glasses. But it sends Reylen’s body up into a stir. It’s like he’s out on the roof, but he doesn’t remember drinking. 

He’s never been so glad to be snuggled up to a blind man.

_ Why do you curl your finger like that? _

“Are you okay?” Seraph laces their fingers together when Reylen doesn’t. He sounds good-humored, if not a little confused. Reylen can’t say he doesn’t understand why. He  _ always  _ has something to say, especially after a scolding from Dump.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m dandy,” Reylen clears his throat, tracing his thumb distractedly over the curve of Seraph’s knuckles. “I was just thinking.”

“Ah, be careful. You don’t want to hurt yourself.” 

“Shut _up,_ ” Reylen jams his elbow into Seraph’s ribs, and Seraph laughs a tiny laugh.   
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry. What’re you thinking about?”

Reylen’s butterflies are waging all-out war. He swallows slightly, shrugging crookedly in Seraph’s lap. “Nothing important. If we keep yapping over the program, Dump’s gonna be sore.  _ You  _ may not have to worry about it, but I know they won’t let me forget it. I  _ live _ with them.”

“They won’t get mad tonight.” Seraph sounds coyly certain of it. “I figure they’ll be in a very good mood. You won’t upset them- at least, not for very long.”  
“But it’s _possible_ , isn’t it?” Reylen feels like he’s been put on the spot. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not anymore. He knows what’s in his own head, but it’s meltingly _embarrassing_ to figure that Seraph knows, too. “I’ll say something, and gab up the part where the Duke’s revealed as the goddamn killer.”

Dump’s offended gasp is loud and horrified. “ _ REYLEN!” _

Reylen sits his head up just slightly. Dump’s staring at him, twisted around on the carpet, their eyebrows furrowed in distress. 

“Ah, beans. I didn’t think you were listening.”  
“The _commercials_ are on!” It’s like Reylen’s slapped them across the face. “Oh, that better not be true! I told you not to _spoil!_ ”

“It’s not true,” Seraph soothes, leaning his head back against the cushions. “I promise. I know the rules.”

Dump seems appeased, although they set Reylen with the single most withering glare they can muster. “You better  _ hope  _ so, Reylen King.”

“Show’s back on.” Reylen laughs nervously, blowing a kiss in their direction as he lays his head back down in Seraph’s lap. Dump turns quickly to the radio again, twisting the dial to turn up the volume. “See what I mean?” 

Seraph’s hand returns to Reylen’s hair. “I don’t  _ see _ it, but I understand. You don’t have to tell me.”

They sink back into silence, but now Reylen’s  _ thinking. _ He stares at their entwined fingers and turns onto his side to nudge his nose against Seraph’s stomach.

By the time he says anything, the program’s nearly finished. The Duke has declared himself as the brother of the jailed Count  _ something _ , and Dump is utterly captivated by his long-winded, dramatic monologue. 

As always, Reylen’s timing is poor. But the urgent butterflies in his stomach won’t leave him alone, and he feels like he’ll burst if he doesn’t say it now. He rolls back over onto his back to look up at Seraph, who still listens in patient silence, and Seraph reacts to his shifting with a curious ‘hrm?’

“I love you,” decides Reylen, abruptly. “I think. No, I mean, I  _ know _ , I just… uh. I love you.”

Seraph is quiet. He tilts his head down toward Reylen in his lap, his smile unwavering and unreadable. Reylen stares back at him, half-ready to excuse his own confession as a rinky-dink joke. 

“I mean, I guess I-”

“It certainly took you long enough.”

Reylen’s face darkens in color. “ _ What _ ?”

“You’ve been thinking about it all night, but I really wasn’t quite sure if you were going to go on with it.”

“I-I… That’s…  _ You _ …”

“I love you, too.” 

To their left, Dump shushes them again. They’re not paying attention, but Reylen’s dreading the moment they do. He’s gonna get an earful about the whole Duke thing. 

Seraph doesn’t seem too bothered. He apologizes with a light smile and leans down to press a soft kiss to Reylen’s cheek.

All in all, it really is a good night. One of their better radio hours, if he’s honest. And Reylen  _ really  _ has to hand it to Dump. 

Before them, Reylen would’ve never thought of buying some shitty, worn-out radio. Even if it  _ was  _ half-price. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really bad at writing fluff im sorry


End file.
